


Egoists

by Maryiq



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Character Development, Coming of Age, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, a lot of canon details, angst with happy ending, because yuzu is very determined, it all starts in Boston, mild Stephane/Shoma, more tags will be added as I figure them out, not really a slowburn, season 2016-2017, story follows real events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maryiq/pseuds/Maryiq
Summary: Amid competitions and shows, there's no time for anything. But they find time anyway - for quarrels, jealousy, doldrums. It's easier to hurt than to cherish and comfort. Well, what can I say, they are not perfect.





	1. It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Эгоисты](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/494077) by Просто А Я. 



> hi! i'm bringing you the most beloved fanfic of russian part of the fandom. and this time it's in english!))) (it might be a bit confusing at the beginning but you'd love it soon, I promise)
> 
> P.S. I want to say huuuuuuuge thank youuu to shomaun_ho and harimaron for beta-reading this text. Without your big help I wouldn't have the courage to post anything in english ever. I'm very grateful! *kisses*
> 
> P.S.2 follow me on twitter for more yuzusho stuff https://twitter.com/MaryiqLoves or just @MaryiqLoves (I'm adding everyone back~)

Perhaps it was a disaster.

His first World Championship in a senior league – a big event. After his triumphant debut at the Grand Prix series, Shoma vowed to bestir himself for a good skate to finish the first year of his ambitious professional life if not on the podium, then at least in the top 5, a place reserved for the best skaters the world has to offer.

It was hot in Boston – somewhat humid, stuffy, crowded. Frankly speaking, Shoma didn’t like any of these things; there was no pleasure to be found in the chaos. Someone from their team was devotedly babbling about urban fashion, beautiful architecture, American weather and the allure of western daily life, but Shoma just couldn’t appreciate the atmosphere. His only thought was, ‘ _Jeez, there are some romantics in the midst of us_.’

In his eyes, the beautiful daily life was back in Japan – the same daily life Shinkai depicts in his movies. Day in and day out – a feast of beauty, the quest for it in every motion. But here…

Here was madness. Here was anxiety and lack of space. Shoma didn’t know where to hide, didn’t know how to survive the hustle at the draw, in what line he should stand to get coffee, which coffee to order, didn’t know if he could pantomime at Starbucks or if he should just show the cup he had from his previous order instead. He even washed the cup (twice) before leaving his hotel room.

Well, it turned out that the babbly someone who didn’t let Shoma sleep on the bus was not the only romantic in the group – Shoma happened to be a little romantic, too. Hell – a full-on green milksop*.

As it happened, he even had a matching costume. Now, looking back, Shoma cursed himself with every bad word he could think of. At the time, he met Yuzu-kun in the hotel lobby – he was cheerful, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, all grace and elegance – basically, as he usually was. He grabbed Shoma’s elbow, dragged him through a heavy crowd, whispering, “Look how amazing this place is! Here, no one gives a damn about us, no one knows who we are, America has their own idols. We aren’t even on their radar.”

However, Yuzu-kun didn’t take him outside – he turned left somewhere, pulled him further and nudged him towards a bar counter.

“You can get a really good coffee from the bar,” he said then, sitting on a stool and putting his feet on its foot rail. “The street outside is full of fans, they would recognize us for sure.”

Shoma fiddled with the washed cup in his hands and sighed. “They will recognize Yuzu-kun, not me. I could have fetched coffee by myself.”

Yuzuru cocked an eyebrow at him in surprise. “Why? Let’s have some coffee together, it’s no big deal. I’m exhausted after the journey, too.”

“Are you even allowed to drink coffee?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

Shoma tilted his head to the side slightly, musing tentatively, “Well, your diet regulations… or… whatever.”

Yuzuru rolled his eyes, then reached for Shoma’s hand, and grabbing his wrist, he pulled him closer to the bar counter and pointed at another stool.

“Sit down, they have nice coffee here, too. Better than at Starbucks. I’ll order it for you, put away your cup.”

That was their conversation before the competition. Shoma was astonished with how unfettered Yuzuru had become over the years they spent apart, hastily meeting only at some ice shows. The present cheerful Yuzu-kun seemed the same as Shoma remembered from a long time ago, but at the same time something about him was unfamiliar to Shoma. Shoma was listening to his stories with curiosity, drinking, as it turned out, a very delicious coffee, smiling and enjoying Yuzuru’s small anecdotes about life in American hotels.

Even before this, Shoma already knew everything about himself – knew about his crush, didn’t run away from it and didn’t try to fool himself. But only now did he realize just how hard he had fallen, because even the new, changed Yuzu-kun seemed so perfect to him. He saw all these changes in his senpai, good and not so good, but didn’t feel any disappointment. Everything new – if it was about Yuzuru, Shoma was willing to accept it.

That evening they both stayed together for a little longer – went to the gym, sat on the sofa in the hotel lobby. Higuchi-sensei took him to dinner rather far away, although by that time Shoma already felt almost overwhelmed – he felt drunk from being so close to Yuzuru, his legs didn’t cooperate, and his face was stretching into a smile entirely of its own accord. Being in this condition before the competition was extremely dangerous, but in spite of that, Shoma had plunged himself feet first into the deepest puddle, and it felt _amazing_.

Amazing, right.

Well, he also felt relatively amazing after his short program – all in all 4th place wasn’t a bad result. This placement didn’t exclude the possibility of him getting on the podium. A lot of crazier stuff had happened throughout the season anyway. There was a nasty incident that happened to Yuzuru and almost destroyed all of his much-praised self-control. Yuzu nearly got himself kicked in the face with a skate by another athlete – and it didn’t seem like a laughing matter. While Shoma decided not to comment on it for fear of falling into an abyss of groundless conclusions, the media anticipated a scandal; all news hunters were waiting for the explosion, but Shoma, who didn’t like public disclosure, in his innocence thought that the incident was over for good right after the short skate – Yuzuru topped the standings and that was the most important thing. So long as it was all good on the ice, the little games that the media played didn’t matter. At least to Shoma.

And the fact that Yuzu-kun once again overcame himself and almost beat his own record even after such troubles was so Yuzuru-like. Very admirable, definitely. All these things were completely new to Shoma. When he was in juniors, reporters weren’t fabricating bubbles without soap, so in a way he was still a pampered child. Emotions were getting the best of him, euphoria was overflowing his senses – Yuzuru was becoming his role model, and Shoma’s usual composure was suddenly hard to maintain.

Shoma tried not to think too much about the free skate so as not to mix anything up because of thoughts that were getting out of hand. Shoma was fighting himself as best as he could, but his 18-year old mind was taking its toll without warning him whatsoever. To make matters worse, even at eighteen he hadn’t explored the wealth of rowdy social interaction most boys his age revelled in – he spent his whole life shut in, choosing locks stronger and walls thicker for his own safety.

But right now, right here, he just couldn’t contain himself. Perhaps, it was time? Oh, who was he kidding – it was just some stupid hormones gone wild, a silly springtide hitting him in the head, overexcitement catching up to him. At this time, if he were in Japan, if he were going to school, he would have been finishing his classes right now, and that’s always a great experience, so maybe that’s why his head was begging for refreshment. Shoma was making up the most idle excuses for himself, going to the mirror, looking at himself and repeating over and over again: “Don’t think, stay calm, collect yourself.”

How could he hope for anything with such a face? Yuzuru was beautiful in every way – from any angle, he was perfect. And who was Shoma? A bear – by silhouette. Dressed in velvet on top of that.

A swan and a little bear – as if. But the exhilaration was spreading further, and Shoma finally let a smile slip, biting his lips at the thought that he wouldn’t mind being Pooh in Yuzu-kun’s arms. Being a bear wasn’t that bad after all.

The ceremony with the following draw passed in a blur. All the heroes of the day gathered in one room. It became overcrowded and way more stuffy. Shoma couldn’t breath and he hardly even believed that somewhere here, in this same building, was a rink with real, cold ice. He shouldn’t have complained though because in ten minutes, when it was time to disperse, he was freezing cold.

Of course, Yuzu-kun didn’t have to babysit and futz around with his kohai, and besides, with such popularity and importance as he had, it was truly impossible to do so, but the contrast between how it was when they were alone and how Yuzuru’s behavior changed when they were in public was really devastating.

Shoma couldn’t even grasp what hurt him the most – affectionate hugs with the Russian queen Evgenia Medvedeva or the way Yuzuru exchanged glances with Javi. Yuzuru gave his whole being to everyone, so Shoma, figuratively speaking, slid away to the boards to get a spot for observation. And there was a lot to observe – the God of figure skating was communicating with other inhabitants of Olympus, where Shoma didn’t belong.

It wasn’t even about Shoma hoping for something. He was neither pettish nor big-headed. But falling from the height of his romantic visions turned out to be a very painful thing. Or maybe it was just his inflamed imagination, hypersensitivity to any kind of allusions, that saw absolutely normal things as something terrible. As a disaster.

Shoma barely survived the official ceremony and then went straight home in a car specially prepared by his manager. He didn’t leave his hotel room all evening, but this didn’t save him from Yuzuru – he called him right before his bedtime and asked how he was doing.

"Are you nervous? It’s the most important competition of the year."

"Honestly, not really."

"That’s good. Sleep well, have a solid meal in the morning, so you won’t need to eat much at dinner and won’t be hungry when you perform but still full of energy."

"Yes, Yuzu-kun. Thank you, Yuzu-kun."

"What’s wrong with you? You seem distracted. Did you fall in love? There were so many pretty girls in the morning – have you ever seen so many in one place?"

"No."

" _No_ to what?"

"To...all of that."

Yuzuru laughed. "How concise. Well, I think I’m in love. I feel as if I’m floating on air. Tomorrow I guess it’s gonna be either really good or really bad. It’s always like that when you fall in love."

Shoma closed his eyes and saw the beautiful face of Evgenia Medvedeva, worthy of an artists brush. In a few seconds the picture reel in his mind shifted, slid over – to Javi. Shoma thought that if there was a man more handsome than Yuzu-kun, it was definitely Javier Fernandez.

The Russian goddess and the Spanish macho both had posture beyond compare. Bears are only allowed anywhere near such beautiful creatures on a chain. For entertainment. Shoma squeezed his eyes shut and was woken up by the sound of Yuzuru’s concerned voice.

"Shoma! Shoma, where are you? Do you hear me? Are you sleeping? Did you really fall asleep again? Shoma, I’m gonna call Mihoko if you don’t answer me now! Okay, I’m counting to three and then I will call your coach. One… t.... Answer me, Shoma! Or I should just… Shoma! I’m coming to your room, can you open the door?"

"Yuzu-kun, no need to go anywhere," Shoma whispered cutting off the hysterical fit that was pouring in through the phone. "I was just thinking."

Yuzuru hung up the phone.

A true disaster, as Higuchi-sensei called it when she found her half son, half pupil in bed with a fever, happened the following day. The thermometer showed 100.5 Fahrenheit. Higuchi-sensei flung up her arms and hugged Shoma so tight his ribs almost cracked. Shoma didn’t want to get up at all, but he peeled himself away from the bed anyway so that he wouldn’t make her worry even more than she already did.

"So much for ‘ _I’m not nervous_ ,’” Higuchi-sensei whispered, rubbing his back as he drank lemon tea. She smelled like perfume that he knew well from his childhood. "It’s a stress-related sickness, Shoma. Will you be able to get yourself together for tonight?"

“I will,” Shoma nodded, gulping the sour hot tea as it stung his throat.

"Man up, Shoma. You have to. You know what we are here for, right?"

For what, though? Since last night, Shoma couldn’t even remember why he came to Boston.

This question became an anchor that was slowing him down. It continued to slow him down the whole day until it was his time to perform. Why was he here? To whine and weep like a baby or what? He was here to skate.

In some twisted kind of way, Yuzuru's new-found infatuation had worked against him. Shoma, who by his warm-up gained himself a zombie status, watched Yuzuru’s performance on a flat screen and thought that for some reason, love decided to nail his delicate black-gloved hands to the ice very firmly. Yuzuru’s skate included a number of elements Shoma had rarely seen from him, and he tallied them in his head as they came.

Ass kissing the ice - 1.

Attempts at caressing the ice (and not in gratitude) - 2.

Jumps saved from the abyss - unknown number. Perhaps also 2.

Shoma, whose mental state was close to one-quarter of its norm, absently thought about Yuzuru's injuries, his green wounds, that nasty incident and words said at the wrong time that were immediately picked up by the media. Yuzuru had so much to deal with, that he just couldn't help but fall under this heavy weight. Although everything was alright the other day when he skated his short program.

Meanwhile, he himself presented a rather pitiful sight – pale after his morning fever, a bad night’s sleep, and not having eaten all day, tired, with a dizzy feeling and a dead, slackened face. His costume hung on him like a bag, his hair was disheveled, but Shoma couldn’t even think about that – he simply sat there and stared at the screen, watched as the leaders in the green room changed with every passing program, but Yuzu-kun still remained fixed in his spot even under such fluidity. For now.

When it was Shoma's turn, he took to the ice almost with his eyes closed - apparently, Higuchi-sensei even thought about forbidding him from doing so, but never got the chance. He heard the sound of his name twisted with an American accent, followed by his country’s name, also spoken in English in a way that he could never get used to. He rolled out onto ice that was already pitted and scratched by others’ blades.

He skated reflexively - from jump to jump, from element to element. His arms felt like dead limbs as he moved, he could hardly see the boards and figure out how far they were - not to crash into them at least. Under these conditions he barely covered the whole rink and his jumps were under-rotated, messy and listless. His head was completely empty and he didn't find any joy in it.

And when he fell - first on his ass and then rolling onto his stomach after - it took him a while to realize what just happened. He got up with effort and only then did he realize that all this time he hadn't been listening to the music - he just couldn't adjust to the rhythm because he got lost. That's right, he got lost out of the blue, with thousands of eyes of a monster-crowd watching him. Lost.

Of course, all further turns and choreographic frills were performed out of tune - only on autopilot. By the end of his skate, Shoma was overflowing with so much self-loathing that the cheers he received from the crowd sounded to him like an undeserved luxury. Broken and fully defeated, he bowed out half-heartedly and soon took a seat at the kiss and cry, not to accept any kisses, but to burst into tears instead.

And only then, one phrase came to mind. A phrase that could accurately describe his current state of mind:

 _It hurts_.

***Small note** (since there is no english equivalent for this phrase):

_milksop - sensitive, sentimental person, a crybaby_

_green - young, inexperienced_


	2. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> harimaron & shomaun_ho, I love you!~

"You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna kill you next time."

Yuzuru sat in Shoma’s hotel room. He had stolen a plate of food and dragged it to the floor, and was now rather briskly using his fork to eat it. Shoma watched the theft of his food and wasn’t sure what blew his mind more – the fact that Yuzu-kun sat on the floor, ignoring the existence of a table, or that Shoma himself was actually left without his dinner.

"Why?" Shoma asked, not clarifying what he was referring to.

Yuzuru never let him get away with such tricks.

" _Why_ to what? Why am I eating from your plate or promising to kill you?"

"To… all of that.”

“How concise,” Yuzuru smirked. "Do you have any idea how to act when you’re competing? If you feel sick, you say so, you don’t just lie in bed and wait until someone finds you. Higuchi-sensei told me everything. You got sick, I knew it. I should have come to your room that night."

"I didn’t get sick," Shoma said, lowering his voice. "I was fine".

"What about your ass? Does it hurt? That was a hell of a fall. You don’t go down like that even at practice.”

Yuzuru’s mercilessness and impudence knew no limits. He always lacked tact when it came to speaking to Shoma – even in their childhood.

"No, it doesn’t hurt," Shoma lied. In fact, it hurt _everywhere_ \--every part of him that was capable of hurting, hurt. And it was not just his _body_.

"Aren’t you gonna say something so that I give you back your plate? There are just three pieces left."

"Eat up, I don’t care."

Yuzuru took another piece of meat into his mouth and stared at Shoma while chewing aggressively. It seemed almost as if Yuzu-kun was mentally biting his kohai with his teeth.

"Here I was, waxing poetic about _love_ to you, and you were just all, ‘ _Oops, sorry, got lost in my own thoughts_.’" Yuzuru went on, taking down another piece of meat and licking his lips. "And now it’s, ‘ _Eat up, I don’t care_.’ Your not-hurt ass really needs some slapping."

"You can stop," Shoma said softly. "Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.”

"I’m not concerned about you.”

"About who then?"

"About myself. Give me the bottle, I’m thirsty.”

Shoma was about to pour some water into a glass, but Yuzuru reached out and snatched the bottle out of his hands.

"I already drank from it," Shoma warned him.

"So it’ll be an indirect kiss, no big deal," Yuzuru chuckled, unscrewing the cap. "Are you going home after Worlds? Will you be okay?"

"I will," Shoma nodded. "I’m perfectly fine.”

"I _see_ ," Yuzuru nodded, not hiding the irony. "Actually, I’m sure you’ll get through it. You were always mentally strong, but it’s just… I can’t even imagine how you feel, and you don’t say anything. I don’t get how Higuchi-sensei even deals with you.”

"Well," Shoma smiled for the first time in these past few days. "I’m like a son to her or whatever. She’s known me since I was five, she doesn’t need words. And yes, right now I’m going home. I mean, not really _right_ now – tomorrow. Although, of course I would love to leave today, but… I сan’t. I have to survive reporters and this… interview. Will it take long?"

Yuzuru was about to reply, but they were interrupted by a tap on the door.

"Shoma? It’s Higuchi-sensei, open up."

Shoma rose from the bed and went to the door to let her in.

"Thank you for coming," he said with a smile, giving her a bow. "Do we have to go soon?"

"No, the appointment was canceled. The manager said that something has come up and they won’t make it.”

"I’m not of much importance to them," concluded Shoma with a sigh of relief. "That’s good, no need to lie again.”

"Are you saying you lie at interviews?" asked Yuzuru, reminding everyone of his presence.

Shoma turned around and returned to his bed, carefully stepping over Yuzuru’s long legs, stretched across the carpet. Finally meeting Higuchi-sensei’s gaze, Yuzuru was about to scramble to his feet, but she motioned to him that it was okay--no need for formalities.

"Everyone lies at interviews, but I try not to do it too often," Shoma admitted. "It’s just… they would ask me how I feel and I wouldn’t be able to give an honest reply. It stresses me out."

Higuchi-sensei chose a chair with broad back and sat down, crossing her legs and locking her fingers in her lap.

"Yuzu-kun, did you come with your own fork or did you order in for two?" she asked all of a sudden, as if not paying attention to the rather serious subject of their conversation.

"No, we didn’t order anything. I came while he was eating," came an honest reply from Yuzuru. "Sorry about that.”

"Ah, don’t apologize, it’s alright. The thing is – Shoma had a fever and I still don’t know for sure what it was--maybe he caught a cold. You don’t want to catch an infection, do you?"

“It doesn’t matter anymore, I’ve already licked his fork from every angle, so now whatever happens, happens," Yuzuru said and started laughing sheepishly. "But I knew he was sick, so it’s all my fault, don’t worry.”

"And you drank from my bottle, too,” Shoma added.

"And I will drink some more. In fact, I will take it with me."

"Okay, take it," Shoma had long given up fighting him, so he just let it go.

"Is he sending me away? Why is he always like that?" Yuzuru complained, facing Higuchi-sensei. "Fine, I’ll leave you alone.”

"See you later,” Higuchi-sensei smiled warmly at him. Shoma said something too, although he didn’t even register it himself – just blurted out a polite formality on autopilot.

Higuchi-sensei helped him pack his suitcases for the following morning. She ordered one more share of food, made sure he ate a proper meal this time, suggested for him to take a shower and dry himself thoroughly before bed, so that he wouldn’t get cold. Just as she was leaving, she stopped at the door and said:

"It’s odd that he eats from your plate, and with your fork. In private you can do whatever you want, I won’t say a word, but keep your distance in public. I might speak to him, but you have to hold your ground too, okay? Public image is very important, Shoma, and you know that.”

"Yes," Shoma nodded. "I’ll try to be more careful.”

"Either way, I don’t find it appropriate that he touches you in different places all the time--and does it in public, too. Just like a possessive husband. You have to be cautious, no need to cause any problems – given your careers, problems will find you themselves.”

She said this as if she knew for sure that there was some special relationship between Shoma and Yuzuru, and Shoma wanted to tell her that Yuzu-kun touched everybody because he suffered from lack of skinship, but he stayed quite – he’d rather not talk back to his sensei.

They talked a little more before she left, and, following her advice, Shoma went straight to the bathroom to shower, but was soon pulled out again by the persistent ring of his phone.

Covering himself with the towel and quivering from the cold, he struggled with the touch screen display with his wet hands, and he didn’t even look at the caller’s number.

"So how do you really feel? No need to lie to me, I’ll accept you either way.”

"Yuzu-kun? It’s late, I thought…"

"I have another interview today, so I’m not going to bed just yet. Will you answer my question?"

Yuzuru’s tone of voice was almost mocking and Shoma resolved himself to a reluctant, but honest, answer.

"My heart is bleeding," he said, glaring down at the carpet. "I don’t want to see anyone. It seems like everyone knows that I messed up big time. And I hate myself for it."

"You didn’t mess up," Yuzuru assured him. "Get some sleep. It is best for you to rest, you need to prepare for your flight tomorrow. Oh, and Shoma? We won’t see each other for a long time, so tell Higuchi-sensei she has nothing to worry about.”

"Did she say something to you?" Shoma asked, surprised.

Yuzuru laughed down the phone.

"I have _eyes_ , I don’t need her to say anything,” he said. "Okay, I have to go now. I will treat you to dinner next time, I promise."

After their conversation, Shoma shuffled back to the shower, turned off the water and then went to bed without taking off his bathrobe. His temperature was back to normal, and it didn’t hurt anywhere anymore.


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What a gorgeous back. Who said you were unattractive? Look at your beautiful silhouette, Shoma. Look at the perfect lines of your body, look how your neck joins your shoulder, how smoothly your collarbones fall into place. What a gorgeous torso and toned abdomen. And your legs are normal length – don’t compare yourself to others, judge by your own natural body proportions. For your height, your legs are perfect. Just look at yourself, you are so handsome. A fantasy. Perfection. I would love to choreograph a tango for you – all the judges will be head over heels for you. So will all the women. And men, too, if you’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back with new chapter, it's shoma-centric, but I hope you'll still like it~
> 
> P.S. Thank you so much to Harimar0n and Sharpe3 for making this text readable and pretty! You are the best! *kisses*

Shoma didn’t particularly have any idols from the West, but he respected Stephane Lambiel to no end – he had watched his performances since he was a kid, trying to take something from his choreography. Shoma had even showed Higuchi-sensei some recordings and asked her to help him with presentation. 

After a severe letdown and picking himself back up again, he decided to stop giving way to his emotions and going crazy over his failure any further, deciding that everything that had happened was his fault alone. He was ashamed that he had wasted the World's spot others had fought for, throwing it away with failed jumps. Didn’t live up to everyone’s expectations and investments put into him – he was given so much, people worked so hard in order for him to succeed and he wasted it all just like that by letting himself lose his mind. Irresponsive. Unworthy. Weak.

Determined not to repeat such mistakes ever again, Shoma clamped down on any romantic fantasies that were threatening to get into his head and weigh him down like stones. He decided to move forward and concentrating on his new program, fighting to improve his choreography and his jumps. To shore up weaknesses that he noticed during his first senior season. He saved all his program recordings from last season and commited almost the whole week to watching and rewatching his own falls, under-rotations, ugly take-offs and spins with unsteady centers. The work was painful but necessary.

No more anime. No more movies. No more video games and cinema outings. Only the ice rink and his room in his parents’ house, nothing else. 

In May and June he invested all his spare time on training, skating with bottles in his hands, bending close to the ice while sliding, doing exercises to make his spine more flexible, since it had become stiffer with age. When Shoma was a teen he could do a Biellmann with mid arch, but now he could hardly touch the blade with his fingers while standing on one leg. Yamada-sensei was coming to his practice sessions almost every day, which wasn’t common at all – when he became self-sufficient enough, she had passed the greater part of her duties to Higuchi-sensei, who was better at dealing with Shoma. Now, sensing changes rooted in some kind of deeper, inner pain, Yamada-sensei returned to her former duties, although she was holding off on giving advice. Apparently, she understood that Shoma ate himself alive for his “failure”, set new goals for himself and decided on his own how exactly he should move forward. 

All photos of Yuzuru were deleted and burned off from his phone in a bout of poignant fondness. Shoma didn’t have it in himself to delete his senpai’s number from the messaging app, afraid of hurting Yuzuru’s feelings, so he just deleted the whole app, putting a stop to their online communication. No more midnight calls and stunts. No more photos at 6 in the morning. No more messages a la, “Listen to this, it’s a really great song, what do you think, will it be possible to put a 3-eu-3 combination on the third measure here in competition?”

Shoma chose to fling himself into practice routine and master himself, and this decision didn’t allow compromise. Suffering from his own still adolescent desires, he restrained his raging head and body with cold showers, morning runs, no dinner and an additional hour on the ice. His parents, who noticed his fanaticism, at first gave him soft advice not to overwork himself, but at the end of June, Shoma drove them to the point that one day his father spoke his mind right after dinner. 

“Do you want to become handicapped when you grow older? Do you want to get yourself a spine twist? A backache for the rest of your life? Do you want to break your bones so hard that your ribs jab into your liver? Go on then. Only, your mother didn’t save you from death for this. You are fighting, I can understand, you are a man, you have some pride in you, and that’s great. But your mother and I also fought for you – to have you alive, with us. Warm, breathing and happy. Happy, Shoma, do you hear me?”

Thus, in July, he made a rather rational decision – to replace quantity with quality. There was no reason for him to complain about the practice sessions under the watchful eye of Yamada-sensei and Higuchi-sensei, but they couldn’t give him what he needed right now as an athlete who was reaching the edge of manhood. Higuchi-sensei decided everything for him.

It was a hot summer day. Shoma was cooling down after practice, sitting right on the corridor floor, when she came up to him, knelt in front of him and said:

“Want me to find you another coach? It’s gonna be a good experience for you. You need a man who will teach you everything and train you hard. We won’t leave you, I’ll even accompany you everywhere you go, but this way you will gain new experience. You need a jumping coach. I will give you a few names to choose from and when you make up your mind, we will test the waters.”

That evening, Shoma came home in tears. Now he felt ashamed and guilty in front of her, too. It was like he was betraying her, and that was the last thing he wanted. Itsuki, who came back from his friend’s house, waited until night and then asked Shoma what happened, what made his brother weap for hours on end that he couldn’t even stop. 

“Higuchi-sensei told me I could find a new coach. For jumps.”

“So what’s the big deal?”

“It’s as if… as if she read my mind. I feel bad.”

“What’s bad about your motivation to grow? You don’t want to be your best for everyone and for everyone to be pleased with you, right? It doesn’t work that way. You are not a one hundred dollar bill. Sometimes it’s inevitable that we hurt someone in the process. I don’t think she is hurt though. And Yamada-sensei – no hard feelings from her either, I’m sure. It actually sounds pretty cool that you outgrew them a little – not at everything, but at something. It means they trained you very well.”

It all started from there – travelling internationally for something other than competition. When he was in juniors, everything was easy – you could just train at home and then at competitions show the progress you’ve made. In seniors, this wouldn’t do anymore. They flew to America to his new coach, Alex Uryashev. Uryashev was bilingual, but none of his languages were Japanese, so Shoma required an interpreter. He had many weird habits, some of which seemed just barbaric to Shoma – the coach would shout at him across the whole rink, would clap his hands very loudly, would follow him everywhere he went. At first, he was scared of Alex, but soon got used to his methods. 

Alex taught him to jump from the ground. Since Uryashev-sensei worked mostly with young girls, Shoma had to get used to their company, and he was very thankful that these ‘ice ballerinas’ weren’t the kind who were fond of pranks. The figure skater of short stature and a cute face without any knowledge of English could become an easy prey for any one of them. On the other hand, the girls blushed prettily when he stood alongside them and began practicing his jumps in the same corridor. 

But at least falling on the floor wasn’t as painful as it was on the ice. Shoma didn’t break his knees to the point of seeing stars anymore, but by the end of the day his whole body was throbbing with exertion. He didn’t care that he was scolded like some schoolboy in an unfamiliar language or that he was sometimes yanked rudely by the elbows, and the fact that he was the only boy under the guidance of Uryashev-sensei didn’t offend him at all. He saw his goal, knew what his coaches had done for his sake and thought only about his training. That was what adult life was all about. 

Jumps from the ground proved to be easier and faster, but on the ice there were additional tiresome entries and exits, he had to stretch his leg for balance and make it as graceful as he could. He had to shorten the bend before take-off and judgehis strength more accurately. 

Uryashev-sensei told Shoma that he had strong legs. In all his life, Shoma had never heard something like that before from anyone – everyone around him kept saying that he was weak and needed care and assistance. Now this myth was being smashed with stone hammers systematically breaking it into pieces. Yes, he was once weak and thin as a stick. Yes, his sports backpack had once almost weighed more than him, nearly making him fall over on his back while he climbed up the stairs. But now everything changed. Uryashev-sensei was sliding his open palms over Shoma’s back, which was damp with sweat, crumpling up his T-shirt, pulling his shoulder blades out into the daylight and showing him what this body was capable of. The body that was unfamiliar even to its owner. 

As it turned out, there was flexibility – although it was not perfect. They could work with that. And his blood pressure was fine, too--nothing to be afraid of while performing jumps with many rotations. His body was used to being overworked, his muscles were trained properly, his abs were decent and his thighs were actually beyond compare. His breathing was okay, but could use more work. To intensify his workout sessions he added a kilometer to his morning run and thirty more knee bends to each set. As it turned out, his massive knees and elbows that he was so ashamed of were not negative attributes at all. On the contrary, they were a plus. So what if he was a bear instead of a swan? Being a bear meant having firmer joints – the firmer the joints, the stronger the ligaments. The muscles had space to grow, the pressure had something to lean on. It was a good body – well-cut and firmly put together. 

“You have great body for a figure skater, Shoma. God gave you everything, just use it.”

In the space of a month, Shoma realized that everything he was ashamed of since childhood should have been his pride a long time ago. This changed many things for him. 

He had worked on his jumps excellently and then returned home to rest a little, but in a week’s time Higuchi-sensei came to him with yet another proposition: to fly to Lausanne, to Stephane Lambiel. No, not to work on a new program – just to show himself, so that the accomplished choreographer could give him some pieces of advice. Apparently, Shoma wasn’t the only one who saw the results of his recent work with the western coach. 

The flight to Switzerland was much harder – this time Itsuki didn’t go with him, caught in the obligations of a new field hockey season and a mounting pile of homework. Shoma came out of the plane completely drained, and the European air didn’t help at all. In Lambiel-sensei’s city, there was a wonderful year-round skating rink – large, uncrowded, with resounding arched vaults. His manager already booked two hotel rooms, took care of the common matters, so Shoma only had to fall into bed and then get up sharply at six in the morning. Lambiel-sensei was an early riser; his only imperfection in Shoma’s eyes. 

But while Uryashev had burned like a raging fire, Stephane’s method resembled that of a slow-cooker: slow, insistent, and incredibly hot.

“You nod too much for a person who really understands me,” Lambiel said softly, appearing behind Shoma’s back in an instant. 

He pressed Shoma to his chest, straightened his back, set his shoulders back with his hands. He got his point across by throwing aside words and using body language instead. His soft and gentle hands proved to be surprisingly strong. Under his skillful ministrations, Shoma’s muscles succumbed to him on their own accord and stayed that way. Not once in all of their five days of interaction had Shoma felt like a clumsy inadequate – he just listened to the gentle voice and let his body get used to the new sensations. 

Lessons with Lambiel-sensei were almost intimate. Shoma probably wouldn’t have realized that on his own if he hadn’t looked at Higuchi-sensei one day and noticed a slight blush on her cheeks. He later realized that the Swiss genius exuded sensuality even when he wasn’t doing anything particularly sexual. 

“What a gorgeous back. Who said you were unattractive? Look at your beautiful silhouette, Shoma. Look at the perfect lines of your body, look how your neck joins your shoulder, how smoothly your collarbones fall into place. What a gorgeous torso and toned abdomen. And your legs are normal length – don’t compare yourself to others, judge by your own natural body proportions. For your height, your legs are perfect. Just look at yourself, you are so handsome. A fantasy. Perfection. I would love to choreograph a tango for you – all the judges will be head over heels for you. So will all the women. And men, too, if you’d like that.”

Shoma was blushing. He didn’t know if he should climb under a bed and sit there until his cheeks lost their rosy color, or if he should smile and thank him. He never considered himself handsome before and didn’t really like to look at himself in the mirror. As if aware of his reservations, Lambiel-sensei led him to the console-mirror of the hotel room, pulled up his chin with his fingers and made him look, observe and grow accustomed. To himself. To his allure. To his sex appeal. 

“I didn’t consider myself unattractive,” Shoma lied, trying to breathe as calmly as possible and distract himself from the closeness of Stephane’s warm body. 

“And I never said that you did,” Lambiel-sensei nodded while smiling slyly. He knew everything fully well and didn’t need any confirmation. “Just don’t hide, Shoma. Look how masculine you are. Such a handsome man. With those shoulders of yours, you can conquer any type of dance. You have a powerful image on the ice, you create a good impression, you only need to add more speed and sharpness to your movements. Not abruptness, but sharpness. Those are different things, keep that in mind.”

He was advised to take dance lessons – to learn to fix his gestures. To refine his positions all the way to his fingertips so that he could shoot hearts on the spot with just a single turn of his head. 

On their last night in Switzerland, Higuchi-sensei came to his room – illuminated by yellow lighting from a matted lampshade, her face looked unusually enigmatic. Shoma, who was sitting on his bed, moved a little to make room for her. His things were already packed and his suitcase lay on the floor with its lid still open. The doors of the wardrobe were also half-open – his clothes for tomorrow’s flight were still on a hanger. Everything from his bedside table was spread out on the vacant part of the bed. Shoma decided to put his toothbrush away into his travel bag and just use the hotel’s before going to bed and in the morning – it had skimpy and stiff bristles, but it didn’t really matter. 

“Lambiel-san is right,” she whispered, touching his wrist gently, without any hint of vulgarity. “You compare yourself to Yuzuru-kun, and that’s not right. Stop torturing yourself like that. You have something that he lacks, and he has something that you will need to forget about. Just remember your strong points and don’t compare yourself with others. You are unique.”

“Thank you.” Shoma smiled, hiding his eyes. It was easier for him to embrace her compliments; he was more willing to believe in them. 

“I’m glad we traveled this summer. We’ll do it again next year.”

And then there was the ice show – right according to schedule. A whole series of shows that Shoma went to take part in, having yet to get a chance to completely grow into his new experiences and make them a part of his skill of motion. That’s why he had to quite literally figure it out on the go, all while avoiding Yuzu-kun. Because Yuzu-kun was at these exact shows, too.


End file.
